Ghosts of Anchorage
by Jonas Grant
Summary: PFC 'Roach' Calico, unwilling hero of Anchorage and former Canadian Army Special Force sapper ends up in the Capital Wasteland. Everyone he knew is gone, everything is in ruins and all he can trust is himself and his training... And his rifle.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Here's my new story! :D Just a bit of it, to see how you guys like it :/ **

**One thing I want to note right away: There ARE many differences between Cole and Roach, but, to sum it up, let's say Cole's an assassin for hire and Roach is an idealistic freedom fighter :D**

U.S.S Enterprise.  
Bering sea.  
June 2076.  
Locker room.  
B Deck.

The boot collides with the back of my head, emitting a loud thud.

I glance around the room. I know most everyone here, since we all go to gym at the same time every day.

Tercorien is whining to Daniels about the life conditions on the ship, Montgomery and Patterson are bickering about their next mission and Adami is lacing up her boot…

"BOOT FIGHT!" I yell before tossing the thing back to the doc and taking cover behind the bench.

Patterson shrugs and throw one of his own boots to Daniels, who ducks just in time for Tercorien to get it square in the face.

The Sergeant then unlaces one of his own and tosses it to the Colonel, missing and hitting Montgomery instead.

Deciding its all my fault, Benji picks it up and throw it at me.

"Retarded frog guy!" he snarls when I dodge the projectile.

"Shut up, GI Joe." I laugh, preparing to throw the boot back to him.

"Officer on deck!" Patterson suddenly barks and we all snap at attention.

General Chase… God I hate this man. Why? He's a politician, he's american and he's _breathing._

"At ease gentlemen. Patterson, is the strike team ready?"

The colonel cringes.

"Negative sir, Beckett and Clarence are still in medical…"

The general growls and massages his eyes.

"Listen…" His head suddenly snaps in my direction.

"You! What's your name, soldier?"

Uh oh.

"Private Etienne 'Roach' Calico, sir!"

He frowns.

"Etienne? Where's that from? France?"

Here we go again.

"Quebec, sir." I hiss, making it clear I don't want to talk about it.

"So you're Canadian?"

"Yes. Sir."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm 'on loan' to the DoW, sir, Admiral Wilkins requested a sapper that knew how to operate in that kind of environment."

We begin a staring contest… I win. Wilkins' authority surpasses that of Chase for everything that touches naval warfare."

"And where's 'Roach' coming from?"

"Got it in boot camp after a training accident… Long story. You know roaches can survive pretty much everything?"

"Yes, I read about that, somewhere."

"I'm a demo specialist; you do the math, sir."

He nods, slowly.

"So you're a certified die hard? Good, I got a mission for you. Montgomery, your squad's ready?"

"Yup."

"Good, get them on the flight deck in ten! Roach, come with me!"

"Yes, sir." I growl, angrily.

_Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker. Don't paste the fucker._

_

* * *

_

"So!" Benji asks once we're onboard the plane, yelling to be heard over the roar of the engine. "What'd the general have to say?"

"Wanted to convince me I could make the U.S. leave Canada if I helped you guys take Anchorage." I scoff.

"Wow, did he also offer you to be promoted to President?" Benji replies.

"Yeah," I laugh, "He did."

The rest of the squad laughs too.

Fucking brasses, thinks we're all retarded grunts.

"Hey, Roach!" The team's sniper calls "The hell is that rifle on your back?"

"This? This is Lucy; she's been in my family since nineteen sixty!"

The rifle is actually an heavily modified M14, chambered in .308, got integral silencer, black plastic casing with adaptable camo scheme, recoil absorbing stock and 2x scope; It was used by my grand-father's uncle or something like that during the Vietnam war and has been used by soldiers in my family ever since, each generation adding it's own modifications.

I added the adaptable camouflage and my mother installed the suppressor.

The weapon is a lot more reliable and accurate than any of those R variant rifles used by the U.S. and packs much more punch, but it is still considered primitive and outdated by most, for some reason.

In any events, it's the only rifle that actually survived all those underwater missions the admiral sent me on so it's not like I actually have a choice.

The sniper scoffs and shows me his Gauss Rifle.

"This, is a real rifle, mate! Can punch right trough a brick wall!"

"I usually hit my targets before they hide behind a wall…" I reply while taking my place next to Benji.

The guys chuckle at my reply.

"Say, I never asked; you ever been on a combat op, rookie?" The sarge asks once the hatch is closed, making it possible to actually hear each others.

"Yeah, once."

"Where and when was it?"

"Sherbrook, last year; U.S. Marines opened fire on Canadian citizens, my squad and I were sent to take them out."

Everyone goes real quiet.

"Canada had long since been annexed by then…" The heavy weapon specialist begins.

"Yeah, well, someone forgot to tell those Marines...And our CO." I hiss.

These kids were just trying to get some food, they were scared, hungry and pissed, but the food was not meant for them and the Marines started shooting… Fucking Yankees.

The soldiers decide not to talk about it anymore, but Montgomery gives me a weird look.

"You were part of the resistance, right?"

"I was part of the Special Forces and I followed orders. Nothing else." I recite.

That's what I'm supposed to say, at least.

He nods slowly and starts briefing his boys.

"Alright! There's three guns our frog needs to blow the shit out of, all on the promontory; we will be dropped five clicks west of it and have to carve him a path to the targets. "

And I'll have to investigate a few sites, grab any intel I can and bring them back to Chase.

I really hate this man.

* * *

Two hours later.  
Alaska.  
U.S. Field HQ.  
Command Tent.

I enter the General's tent.

Lieutenant Morgan walks up to me right away.

"I got all three cases. You got what you promised me?" I snap, tossing the intel cases to Morgan while glaring at Chase.

We're both standing on one side of the tactical map.

I'm clutching my arm where I shrapnel struck me and he's smoking his cigar.

"Yeah, I do. Go see Adami in the medical tent. She'll take care of it."

I walk to the exit and freeze as I'm about to leave.

"The risks?" I ask.

"Fifty two percent chances of success, otherwise, you'll either die of become horribly mutated…"

He says that like I had asked him who won the last soccer game!

"Great."

I leave the tent and spit in the snow.

God damned Yankees, I hope China nukes them all to mush!

I walk past Patterson and his strike team.

They all nod respectfully upon recognizing me; I'm pretty easy to distinguish, since I wear a black suit of Reinforced combat armor without shoulder pads and have an air recycler hung on my neck.

The Canadian flag on my shoulder helps a bit too.

I nod back and slip into the medical tent.

It's empty, except for the doc and a steel table.

Its the same they use for autopsy.

Adami gives me a hard look.

"You got any idea what you're getting into?" She asks after I take off my armor.

"Nope, I would probably change my mind if I did. Let's go." I answer, folding the stuff into a neat pile.

"Well," She hisses, "I'll tell you nonetheless; I am going to remove all skin from your body, then inject small dose of forced evolutionary virus into your muscles and bones until the mutation level reaches required specs, once it's done, I'll shot massive amount of anti-virus into your blood and pray.

Then, I'll inject a short lived virus strand into your organs, causing them to mutate too. Then again, the only guarantee I can give you is that I wouldn't want to be in your shoes at that moment.

Once it's all done, I'll inject a less aggressive strand into your body and hope it can, combined to the auto-doc, regenerate your skin.

If it works, I'll reprogram the virus to replace the electric impulse and connections that form your body's nervous system into optic fiber and impulses. Still game?"

Why did I even listen to all this?

"Sounds fun; chop away!" I growl.

She sighs and injects something into my neck.


	2. Biting the Dust

**A/N: To answer your question, guys, I was having a serious writer's block when it came to Rise of the Talon, so rather that writing Shit, I started another story, help clear my head, but RotT is still my priority.**

**God and the Snake: That's answered in this chapter... kinda... Its not like he had a choice.**

**Frontier Production: Yeah, M14's a classic :D And what do you mean, heritage? His last name or the rifle? o_O**

Medical tent.  
Two days later.

I'm cold… But my fingers are burning… My bones tickle and my muscles feel stiff… Did I drink Vodka again? I really shouldn't do that, I can't take Vodka.

"Hey! Wake up, rookie! C'mon, snap out of it!"

Benji? What the fuck? I'm recovering from a surgery, he can't barge in like that and tell me to…

"The fucking reds have infiltrated the camp! Wake the fuck up and get moving, soldier!"

Aw shit!

"Where's my gear?" I groan, trying to blink sleepiness away; I fail and doze off, only to have Benji slapping me in the forhead.

I sit up and try to stand… Only to end up sprawled on the floor.

"What did they do to you in there anyway?" Benji asks while getting me back on the table.

"You don't want to know. Where's my gear, Sarge?"

He nods toward a chair, next to the door.

My armor's laying on it, perfectly folded, with my rifle over it and a few clips on the ground. Just like I left them.

"Damn, buddy, you been doing some Buffout or what?" Benji exclaims once I'm sitting.

I look down.

Fucking hell! Where did that come from!

Without being over-buffed like some of those culturists, my muscle mass seems to have at least doubled... God damn, I have some muscles I didn't even know existed!

"Nope… Let's hurry, huh?" I breath, walking over to my gear.

Montgomery gives me a suspicious glare but finally nods and leaves the tent.

There is gunfire outside, but not nearly as much as there should be, considering the fact it's an American garrison…

Translation: The Yankees are not being as trigger happy as usual.

I take exactly one minute to get fully suited up… Armor's tighter than usual, but it'll have to do for now.

Once that's done, I grab my M14 and head out.

What the heck? There's, like, six Chinese soldiers, ten, tops, hiding behind a supply truck near the entrance, six tents away from the medical one. I'm starting to miss my Joint Task Force 2 buddies; they would have left those Reds in the camp, just for the thrill of taking them on close combat, before watching Grognak's latest episode.

I go prone and cut trough the tents, staying hidden until I am five meters away from the truck.

There, I assess the situation again:

Oh… I see… The Chinese blew the shit out of our ammo dispensers, so all the bullets the boys have is those they had with them… Explains the short bursts, I guess.

I sprint and slide to a stop just in front of the rear bumper; if I peek to the right, I can have a clear shot on the commandos. Now, lets do this tactical, professional and… Fuck this.

I switch the selector from safe to Burst and roll out.

"Boo!"

I squeeze six bullets and down all ten Chinese, .308 rounds punching trough them like they were made of butter.

One of them tries to crawl away, but I shoot him in the hearth.

Two GIs arrive shortly after.

"Jesus Christ! You took them on by yourself, bro! You're like some sort of superman!"

I roll my eyes.

"It's called flanking maneuver… The fuck do they teach you in basics?" I snarl, shoving the grunts away and heading for Chase's tent.

On the way, I meet Patterson and nod.

"'Sup Pat?" I ask.

He sighs and explains the general's plan; blow the chimera depot, secure the listening post, disable the pulse field and let the T-51bs do the rest…

"Just you and your squad? The fuck's he thinking?"

The Colonel shrugs.

"Yeah, that's what I asked him: 'how about those guys, you know, the U.S. Army, can't they do anything?'"

"So, what'd he say?"

Patterson scoffs.

"What'd you think he said?"

Yeah… Shut up and get to work…

"…So," He begins after a few seconds "I hear you accepted to be the general's 'errand boy'."

"Yeah, better than being his bitch."

"Fuck you, Roach." He scoffs.

I flip him the bird and get back on my way.

"Daniels! Tercorien! Where the fuck did you go?" I hear Benji call.

Whatever, not my problem.

I shove the flap out of the way and enter the command tent.

"Chase! I'm up, lets get this shit done!" I announce before even looking around. Chase is standing next to the tactical display, a slim figure wearing a white wolf fur coat next to him.

There's a Chinese woman in there, what did I miss?

"Who the fuck is that?" I add once I get back from the shock.

Chase shrugs.

"Roach, this is Dust, she will be assisting you in you assignments."

She extends her hand, but I don't shake it.

Only thing I hate more that the damn Yankees are the damn Reds.

"That was not part of the deal, Chase." I hiss, earning only a scowl.

"The deal was simple; you become my own personal damn grim reaper and I make you into something better; I held my end, time to hold yours."

I finally look at the Chinese.

She's pretty, for a Red, with almost cat-like features and intense dark eyes.

She's a killer, no doubt.

"Dust grew up in Texas; she may look Chinese, but she's just as American as you and m… Well, as me, at least."

I shake her hand and she smile devilishly.

"Pleasure to meet you, Roach… That's an unusual nickname; you knew roaches could survive two days without their head?"

"Yes." I growl. "I'd rather cut the shit and get to work, Chase, what's the job?"

He waves me over to the tactical map, showing Anchorage and the surrounding area.

"The Commies have just taken out our ammo supply, as you already know, and they're blocking any resupply routes with squads of Crimson Dragoons … I need ammo, I need it now and you two are gonna find me some! Anything to say?"

I shake my head. Dust does the same.

"Dismissed."

I was already leaving.

I stop right outside the tent and listen; they are whispering, but it still sounds crystal clear to me.

"He's unstable; angry." Dust notes.

"He's good." Chase answers. "And with his new abilities, he's unstoppable."

"Exactly, how can you control him when I'm not around?"

"We don't; we just unleash him on the Chinese and hope he kills a shitload of them before they kill him."

"His augmentations, how are they compared to mine?"

"Different, in many ways. You were turned into a damn near perfect soldier, your augmentation is refined, accurate and reliable; he is based on a predator model, his abilities are erratic, crude and unpredictable…"

That asshole! He said there was nothing better in the world, not even cyber implants; that was all bullshit, I'm just a cheap, expendable model!

"You don't seem convinced he is actually _weaker."_

Chase sighs.

"Well, like I said; his abilities aim to bring up and increase his predatory instincts and abilities, yet I have no clue what these abilities are."

"Wait," She snaps suddenly. "You mean you don't know what he can do?"

"Not a clue."

"You really are a dickhead, Chase." She spits before leaving the tent.

We glare at each others for a good minute.

"Lets find the dickhead some ammo." I growl before walking to my buggy.

Yes; _my_ buggy, Admiral Wilkins had it assembled for me once I got transferred to Chase's battalion.

The thing's got only two wheels, at the front, and got treads at the rear.

It's two placed; driver seat and gunner seat, with the gunner seat being behind and over the driver's.

It can navigate everywhere without too much problem and is fast enough to distance those Bombardier troop crawler the Chinese captured.

And even if it wasn't, the front mounted Minigun and rear mounted 40mm MGL are bound to make those Reds think twice before following us.

Of course, the fact the engine, driver and gunner are left totally exposed could make some peoples feel uncomfortable with riding around in a motorized bird cage, but I know armor is actually just a fairy tale invented by the brass to make grunts feel better.

Anyways, all in all, it's a good fast assault vehicle I received in thanks for the two Chinese frigates and three destroyers I sunk using C4 charges and a diving suit.

When you think about it, it might seem weird that I would accept to work Wilkins, Patterson and Montgomery, considering my… dispositions, so let's put it simply; I hate them, they hate me, it's a natural and mutual dislike and nothing is ever going to change it.  
But I know how life would be for my people under Chinese rule and they know I'm their best shot at keeping their oil, so we get along -for now- and watch each others back.

Life is just weird like that sometimes.

I sit on the hood and Dust Jumps in the gunner seat with surprising agility.

"This, is a sweet car." She compliments.

I nod and grin.

"Say all you want about Americans, you guys sure know your shit when it comes to motors."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You take that the way you want… So, where are we gonna find ammo for the Old man?"

She thinks about it for a bit, unconsciously toying with the MGL.

I wish I could blast something with it too; looks fun.

"We could acquire some on the black market…" She propose, thinking so hard I,m afraid her eyes will burst. "…Or steal the Reds' own supplies."

"I like the second idea; sounds like fun."

She smiles and lean back in her seat.

"I figured you would like it; thing is, they have walkers and Chimeras protecting their supply depot."

Hmm… Who said anything about attacking it?

"How's your Chinese?" I ask, jumping behind the wheel.

"Flawless." She replies, confidently.

"Good, get on the radio, find a PLA frequency and tell them there is a Crimson Dragoon unit near the ice camp that needs resupplying."

She frowns.

"Why would they believe me?"

"Because there _is _a Crimson Dragoon unit stationed there; they kicked our strike team's ass when we tried to get back to field HQ after the last ops, we had to take the long way around instead."

"So your plan's to intercept those supply on their way?" She asks while I start the car.

"It's probably going to be very well guarded, no sense risking them blowing it up to avoid it being captured either… I think we should rather take out the dragoons, disguise as them, receive the supplies and walk away."

She nod and I drive off, turning north, toward the hills and the ice camp.

I push a button and the Buggy's powerful stereo system starts spitting some good ol' Rock.

"_You Can't Touch Me. No!_

_You Can't Beat Me. No!_

_You Can't Stop Me. Now!_

_You Can't Break Me. DOOOWNN!"_

We hit a bump and the buggy leaps in the air with a roar.

I can hear dust laughing behind me.


	3. Birth of the Hunter

**A/N: So... You'll notice things are much different from the sim; I know, I meant it to be that way, Chase made the sim, so it was very probably heavily biased (Like the technicians said in the notes... So, all in all, I take it I can do just anything I feel like :D **

**God and the Snake: Just read that Ice Man story you talked about, there are a few similarities, but I won't go down the same road as the author... (Very good story though :D) and yeah.  
As they say: Anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice.  
You're right, little girls are scary o_O Red dress or not :O (Played F.E.A.R 2 today... I'm so never going back in an elementary school.**

**Frontier Production: Yeah, I got bored of writing American characters xD**

"_Comrade Cheng!" Li whispered in the radio, "I think I'm hearing something!"_

_Li was stationed on a ledge, near the canyon's entry, while Cheng hung back in a cave with the rest of the unit, ready to ambush any American troops trying to reach the ice camp._

"_What is it comrade Li?" Cheng asked, after signaling his troops to get ready._

"_Music, sir!" The sentry replied after a few seconds of hesitation. "Wait… Is this…"_

_The radio went silent after that._

"_Li? Li, report!" All twenty commandos in the cave waited, perfectly immobile, for their companion to answer._

_All they had was a piercing shriek and sickening crunch. _

_

* * *

_

"Sentry is out, the rats should come out soon." Dust's voice whispers in my ear.

I peek down the scope to the cave's entrance.

Right now, I'm on the side of a cliff, right in front of the cave; would be an obvious sniping spot, had it been possible for a normal human to snipe from there.

There is no ledge, nowhere for someone to actually set up a shooting position, just ice and rocks forming a vertical wave-like pattern.

I am in the depression of one of those waves, back pressed on hard rock and legs wrapped around an oversized icicle. My increased strength allows me to hold that position for a long time while focusing on my shooting while a normal human would have trouble just reaching this place.

I'm not a sniper, but that doesn't matter much; I grew up in a hunters-soldiers family, shooting's in my veins.

Alright, let's do this shit.

The first orange visor appear in my crosshair, then another one…

They keep getting out until there's ten of them.

The leader yells something and they head south, toward the canyon's entrance.

"Ten tangos headed your way." I whisper to Dust, trough my headset.

"I got this."

If she says so.

After two minutes, I hear a long burst of high caliber followed by loud explosions and screams.

Almost immediately, I spot a shimmering in the cave's entrance.

I press the trigger and the Crimson Dragoon falls to his knees, a hole in the forehead.

I down two more Dragoons before they stop trying to sneak out. I can still hear the MGL firing in the distance.

"Dust, Roach here. I got them pinned down, what's your situation? Over."

"I'm wiping the floor with their faces, give me two more minutes and they'll be speaking with Buddha!"

Says what? Whatever…

"Roger that, I'm firing the charges now."

"Booya."

Crazy yankee girl.

I hit the detonator and the C-4 charges along the opposite cliff go off, burying the cave under tones of rocks.

"It's done, I'll stay here and make sure no survivors come out; you take care of the supply delivery." I order, scratching my back on the wall.

Damn bad time to be itching…

"Understood. I just got a call from the general though, you have a new assignment; Patterson's strike team has run into some trouble at the ice camp and we're the only ones close enough to assist. I'll take care of the supply truck, you go help them."

I slide down the Icicle for thirty meters before jumping to the ground, five meters bellow.

"Roger that, I'm on my way."

And, with that, I start jogging; roughly heading north, since it's really the only way to the camp.

My feet dig deep in the snow as they pound the ground, but I feel light, like my whole armor and gear weights nothing and my lungs seem huge… Hard to describe, but running just seems very easy now… except for the sharp pain in my bones, but I guess that'll go away.

The canyon is twenty meters large and fifty meters high with ice dripping from both sides like froze waterfalls; with the sun right over my head, the whole thing look like a valley of diamond.

I hop over a rock, barely noticing it's actually two meters tall, and decide to see just how fast I actually am.

I take a deep breath, lean forward and begin sprinting like I had a rocket up my ass.

The whole canyon is reduced to a blur as my feet barely graze the ground.

Wind is lashing at my face something fierce and I soon have trouble seeing anything but a white mass with a yellow rod in the middle.

Instead of slowing down, however, I center myself on the yellow rod and push as hard as I can.

My hands cut trough the air with a hiss and wind screams in my hears.

Fuck yeah!

*Bang!*

Complete darkness for a few seconds the Banji's amused face.

"Buddy, you just carved your mark into the 68th armored battalion."

What?

I look up and see a tank with a small dent on the side.

Did I do that?

I take a quick look around. Two U.S. A1M1 tanks are taking pot shots at something I cannot see, and getting hosed with small caliber bullets in return… That must be why the twenty infantry guys -Patterson's Strikers and Montgomery's Hellbringers- are cowering behind the tanks.

We're still in the canyon, although the heat of the battle is slowly melting the ice on the walls into an actual waterfall, and the two tanks are presenting their flanks to the enemy, so to offer more protection to the infantry.

A glance over the tank tells me the Chinese are around two hundred meters away from us; just out of range for our tank's main gun… Well, on the paper, the things can shoot down a target from five kilometers away, but it's so cold and dry in Alaska that plasma disperses after a hundred and fifty meters.

"What's the situation, sarge?" I ask after remembering I'm here to reinforce them.

"Shitty, as always; we've got a walker out there raining five millimeter shit on out infantry and a chimera tank keeping our armors at bay, so until one of them dies of natural cause, we can't do shit."

Yeah… Are rocket barrages a natural cause? I mean, bleeding out or burning is a natural way to die, isn't it?"

"Where's Patterson?"

Montgomery nods toward the tank.

"In the tin can, trying to solve that mess; I can raise him on the comm. if you want."

Alright, so here's the Colonel's plan… Actually, no, he doesn't have one; Chase won't send any gunships to help us, Power armor troops are on their way, but he's pretty sure the Chinese are expecting that and have something ready for just that scenario.

All in all, I need to do something they don't expect and do it before the strike team gets wiped out.

"Alright, sarge," I bark after a few minutes of reflection, "do you have any Mini-Nukes?"

Benji glances at Corporal Darling, his second in command, who nods and lift his right hand.

"Yeah, five, but we're out of range and the guy with the launcher's on the other side of that tank.

I smile and shrug.

"Who cares, just gimme the nukes."

A soldier, hidden behind the other tank, tosses a black plastic box to the sarge who hands it to me.

"So, what's the plan?"

I grab a nuke from the box, break the safety cap and toss it like a football…

It soars trough the sky like a missile, turning gracef… Okay, that was a crappy throw and the thing's pirouetting like it had seizures, but in the end, the result if the same; it slams into the six legged turtle robot, aka turtle, and rips out a good chunk of its head before going off.

"Fuck yeah! That's how it's done!" I whoop.

Exactly two minutes after, the Chimera's smoking and the strike team is back on its way to the ice camp.

A radio operator runs up to me.

"Sir! Are you Private Roach?" He asks.

Private Roach? I almost feel like blasting his skull for calling me that.

I rest my M14 behind my neck, hanging my arms on it and nod.

"Sir, General Chase's on the comm.; he's got a new assignment for you."

Jesus Fucking Christ.


	4. Birth of the Monster

**A/N: Tired, snow storm today... A little drunk too, so tell me if anything doesn't sound right... zZzZzZz...**

**Dave: Really? I'm from Sorel (Well, I'm born in chiboum, moved to chapais right after and grew up in Sorel... I'm weird) Where you from?**

**Frontier: You have no idea.**

**God and the Snake: Beat the shit out of you? Nah... He's more the type that'd nuke it... Anyways, Yeah, man I agree to the whole sentence ^^**

**Thanks for readin' an' r'viewin! **

I run up the cargo helicopter's ramp and take a seat between Dust and a Power Armored Trooper.

The thing is filled with soldiers wearing either T51bs Power Armors or Reinforced MkII Combat Armors.

Special Forces, sixteen in all; eight SEAL and eight Shock troopers.

"Nice job out there, bro!" One of the SEALs greets me.

"Yeah," I growl, "isn't it your job too?"

He laughs and nods twice.

The guy has a captured Chinese Gauss Minigun on his lap and just for that, I decide he deserves some respect.

I lean forward and we shake hand.

"Private First Class Etienne Calico… Call me Roach."

"Master Chief Petty Officer Ray Smith, peoples call me either assholes or shithead."

"I'll stick with Smith."

"Fine by me."

He introduce me to his friend, a Shock Trooper named John 'Metal' Sanders-Rosco.

The American and I exchange a short nod.

I feel a light tap on my shoulder and look at Dust. She's still wearing her coat, but over a Chinese Black Ghost armor… Looks very weird.

"I need to brief you on your next assignment," She begins.

Fuckin' A, I was just starting to get bored.

"There are two enemy platoons on their way to the camp; boss wants us to take them out before they reach it."

"Ambush? Sounds good to me."

"No, frontal assault, he wants to test his shock troopers. The Reds are now entrenched in a small town, to the north; chances are they know we're coming."

Like we had time for this shit! Come to think of it, we kinda do…

"Alright…" The pilots voice cuts me off.

"Ladies and gents, we're almost there; please make sure not to forget any of your belongings and thank you for riding with Air Marine Corp. Hou-rah!"

The SEALs tell him to shut up while the shock troopers only laugh.

Dust grabs my elbow and drag me to the ramp.

"We'll go in first, secure a landing area for the boys." She explains, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"We fast-roping down?"

She shakes her head and gives me a hard shove.

I reflexively hold my rifle against my chest, like we're told to do in a crash over enemy territory.

See, if you survive the crash, you'll need a gun, if you don't, someone else might need it.

Next thing I know, I'm bouncing off the pavement, rolling around wildly and breaking cars and streetlights before coming to a stop in… a candy shop?

Whatever; I get up and wipe the dust off my sleeves.

That kind of fall would have killed a normal man; I'm barely bruised.

Okay, I'm still going to kill that bitch, for the principle, but I'm not really badly wounded.

The shop's not much to look at; a counter, a shattered window and a door. I think I'm the one who shattered the window.

I grab a handful of bubblegum from the counter and toss one in my mouth.

What ,'looting'? So what? Sue me.

I grin at the thought.

When I turn to look at the town itself, however, the grin fades.

Civilians; hundreds of them, laying in the streets and against the walls. Executed.

Just like Sherbrook.

* * *

**Sherbrook.  
****Quebec.  
****2075.**

_The six soldiers were sitting in the Helix troop transport, checking their gear._

_The rookie, Roach, readjusted the stitches onhis cheek before picking up ten C-4 charges, twelve grenades, eighteen Claymores and four satchel charges… His backpack now made him look like a turtle; even more with the pentagon shaped scale-like armor plates covering his body_

_When the sniper asked him why he was packing so much explosives, Roach simply smiled and shrugged._

"_Okay, les gars!" The squad leader barked in french. __"Nos amis les 'ricains ont décidés de la jouer Nazi, alors on va y aller et leur faire comprendre que si on accepte de faire ce qu'ils nous disent pour l'intérèt général, on vas pas se laisser traiter comme de la marde C'est pas une opération furtive, c'est un bottage de cul en règle alors prenez exemple sur Roach et soyez prêt a attaquer toute l'armée américaine de front si il faut ! On s'est assez fait marché dessus comme ça, c'est le temps de leur montrer le sens du mot peur! Facta Non Verba ! Pas de diplomatie, c'est le temps de faire parler les guns! __"_

_The men roared in answer. All of them were the toughest, meanest and craziest soldiers Le Pacte could find on such short notice; all Joint Task Force Vets, except Roach, but he made that up by sheer aggression and natural badassness ._

_The kid came from Chapais, a small town in the north of Quebec, pretty much on the border of what one would call the north pole._

_His mother was a tanker at the military base there and his father a conservation officer at the Cree reservation; back at the beginning of the war, both parents decided their son needed some military and survival knowledge._

_At twelve the kid had already killed a brown bear, two deer and managed to trap a wolf, although he let the animal go shortly after. He also knew how to take apart a C-11 Colt Diemaco rifle and put it back together blind-folded… And that was when he was twelve, the boy now sitting in the troop bay was nineteen._

_The squad leader grinned as they arrived over the city and slammed the kid's black visor down._

_Immediately, Roach was met with the UAV recon data._

_Corpses; executed civilians, some armed, most not, T-51b troopers towering over them._

_Roach loaded his M14 with a damn near feral snarl._

_From now on, he and his squad would only speak by HUD texts, since the Americans had no device allowing them to read such communication techniques._

_Facta Non Verba; Facts, not words, this was their creed, this is how they killed; no bravado, no epic speech, they dropped, they killed, they left._

_The leader shoved Roach behind the mounted Gauss Minigun and the kid jumped on the seat._

_One push of a button later, Etienne was hanging by the side of the transport and raining death on the unsuspecting American troops who thought that helicopter to be friendly._

_On the other side of the chopper, the heavy gunner was doing the same._

_Normally, the helo would have its own gunners for that purpose, but it was decided they were not… crazy enough for the job. _

_Roach would remain heavily traumatized by what followed, not because of the scene itself, but because of the satisfaction he felt at taking apart disarmed and helpless enemies… _

_The Marines quickly fled the camp, leaving most of their equipment and weapons behind, and the squad dropped in the middle of the camp, splitting up to take out as many U.S. soldiers as possible._

_None of them thought he'd make it alive, and none of them cared, they were angry and they had a job._

_Five hours later, Roach, the Sniper and the squad leader were in the Helix; all heavily wounded and marked._

_They were monsters; most of the Marines had been just kids, doing their jobs, doing what they thought was right, and the JTF had slaughtered them all, even when they had no weapons and were begging for mercy –well, more like asking for it; Marines don't beg-._

_They'd never received any medals for this, no one ever thanked them…_

_They didn't care._

_They were monsters._


	5. Welcome Back to Reality

**A/N: Translation of the Squad Leader's speech: **

"_**Okay, boys! Our 'rican friends decided to play it Nazi, so we're being sent in to show them that, if we'll do as they say for everyone's sake, we're not going to be treated like shit! This ain't no covert op, it's an all out ass kicking so do like Roach and get ready to take on the whole U.S. Army head on!**_

_**They stepped on us long enough; time to show them real fear! Facta non Verba! No diplomacy! Time to let the guns do the talking!"**_

**Figured you guys'd appreciate knowing what he's saying ^^ **

**I'd like to note that I got nothing against real-world America, but I do have a slight grudge against the Fallout Universe's one… Annexed my country, now, really? -_- *Stare of death***

**Seriously though, I am not responsible for any flag burning, comment, jokes, ass kicking and/or nuking…**

**Yeah…**

**BroHoodofSteelDC: lol, sorry, mate xD**

**God and the Snake: The whole review, actually, and I bet you could ^^**

**Frontier Productions: Can't wait too, I even skipped the part where he goes ape shit on Jingwei, because no one gives a shit. ^^**

**So, Important chapter… I guess, so let's get to it!**

**

* * *

**

I eject the spent magazine, flip it around and insert the fresh one -taped to the other- in my rifle. Took barely a second.

That's an old trick I learned from Jean-François, my JTF instructor and a former African Liberation Front militia man.

A bullet whizz past my ear and I pump two .308 rounds in the sniper that shot it. I just knew he was there, somehow.

I've been down here for ten minutes now and still no sign of the others…

I'd like to say as much about the Chinese; they're crawling all over the shop's front, slowly turning the counter I'm hiding behind into Swiss cheese.

Jean used to say there is two times on the battlefield, long time and slow time:

The cold air is piercing my skin, like I was attacked by invisible piranhas, I can feel every imperfections in the plastic of my rifles stock and see every particle of dust and ash in the air, my tracers seem to take a while to reach their targets and my clips seem to take hours to get empty; however, it all have an artificial feel to it, like it was just a video game.

That's slow time.

Five minutes earlier, I was waiting for the reds to find me, hidden behind a counter.

The wait, listening to every sound, perfectly focused, my head totally clear.

The door of the shop seemed to take forever to open; the soldier's footsteps so far away from each others that he seems to stop after each.

The sound of his hand tightening on his rifle lasted for hours and, barely a few seconds after he had entered the shop, I worked up the courage to stop hiding and stood.

His terrified eyes will only add up to my own mental museum of horrors.

Not sure why I'm thinking this now; I'm in the middle of a firefight and I just got left to rot by my squad.

Fucking Yankees must've played cow boys and gotten shot down… Or they left me to…

"To any United States Army personnel… uh… this is Hammer 6, w-we, we're down behind enemy lines, requesting ba-*bang*-k-up! I repeat, requesting immediate back-up "

Jesus Christ, why am I always right?

"Hammer 6 this is Roach, I…" Whoa, déjà vu…

The gunfire stops outside… Hell, everything stops.

I've been here before… It was just like now, but different too, I've done this already, a thousand times.

It's more than just déjà vu, it's a certitude; this already happened.

I try to remember when, but it's as if my brain refused to show me.

Then, I hits me like a freight train; years, decades maybe, of feelings, experiences and memories fill my brain all at once.

I shot general Jingwei, took the ice camp with a JTF team, then a SEAL team, fought Chinese, Russians, Americans, I did it with my augmentation, then without it, with Dust, without her, against her…

All different scenarios, thousands of them; all starting after I woke up from Chase's procedure.

Then, just as it came, it's all gone, leaving just a feeling of calm, control.

No matter what's going to happen next, I've seen worst, I just know it.

**Warning: Virtual Memory Overload, VR Pod shutting off.**

**

* * *

**

VR sim… That was all just a simulation… Wow...

As the pod opens, I realize my whole life might have been a simulation. Maybe my name isn't true, maybe...

No… I still have the JTF2 Tattoo on the left shoulder and scars from my time on the Enterprise.

I'm only wearing underwear, so a glance down suffices to know that I was never augmented…

What the hell is going on? Why did they do that? Why release me now? Who exactly is 'they'?

I look around the room, but there's only a door, to my right.

I jump off the pod with ease.

Must not have been in there long; there is no muscle atrophy… I mean, sitting in a chair like that for long would cause me to, well, first dehydrate, then starve, then… well, die.

Unless it uses some stasis field or something; I heard about that stuff in a magazine… Unless it was in Captain Cosmos…

Damn door won't open.

It's a white steel door with a key card slot next to it.

Key card slot…

I rip off the casing -my hands working independently from my brain- pull a few wires and finally jerk the alimentation one out.

Safety system; in case of power failure, the door automatically unlocks.

How do I know this? No clue, it's just obvious, I guess.

The door slides open but gets stuck halfway trough.

Made in USA.

I still manage to squeeze trough and end up in Ali Baba's cavern.

Joint Task Force Two is a bit like America's Delta Force mixed with Great Britain's Special Air Service; we have our own unique weaponry and armors, created especially for our needs and training.

I'd like to say this room is filled floor to ceiling with Spec Ops weaponry, but it actually only contain eight JTF2 exclusive weapons, held on tables around the room, under focusing lens and stuff, as if the Yankees were studying them.

Still, don't piss on a gift horse or whatever; time to go shopping.

The first weapon is a Colt/Diemaco C-18 Assault Carbine, a weapon that closely resembles the U.S. made M4A1. It has a reflex sight, silencer and fore grip. SOPMOD variant… Nice. The clip is empty though… Figures.

I pick it up, letting it hang by its Kevlar strap, and move on.

Next up is a C-17 MDR, Marksman Dedicated Rifle; not a sniper rifle, nor an assault rifle… A bit as if a M16 and SR-70 had a bastard child.

Not my strong suit; better pass.

Next one doesn't even require thinking: It's a Colt Para MkII .32 caliber handgun. Americans and Chinese Special Forces wouldn't even want to touch it; it's small, plain and doesn't accept weapon mods other than the integrated silencer.

Me, I love it; its ammo is easy to find and to carry, it's comfortable and well balanced, unlike those N99 the U.S. uses, has a twenty shots magazine and a full auto selector… And it doesn't scream 'Over-compensating' like the 10mm pistols.

I scratch my head with the weapon's Iron sight.

The C-18 I could hang by the strap; where am I supposed to put the pistol? In my boxers?

Whatever, I'll just hold onto it for now.

They have so much gear here, I'm sure I'll find an armor or BDU soon enough. Why do they actually have all that stuff? Were they studying the JTF?

Let's speed this up, huh.

CSR-55 Rifle… Nah, I'm no sniper.

SAW Mk-87. Can anyone actually carry that thing? Pass.

Pancor Jackhammer! Damn, I always wanted one of th… Wait… Where's the trigger? Nuts! Next.

M14 MDR, M21 variant… Wait… That's Lucy! You fucking bet I ain't leaving her there.

I pick up my family's rifle and check for potential damages.

Except for some dust, it's in perfect condition… Wait…

I quickly check the C-18 for any problems.

Nothing, pristine condition too.

I was afraid it may have been missing some parts, like the Jackhammer, but its not.

The rest of the weapons simply don't interest me.

I don't need a tazer gun nor shoulder mounted AA laser.

There's another door, to my left this time; I grab a double edged TACTO knife from a table and use it to pick the magnetic lock.

If anyone saw me right now, they'd either piss themselves and run or point and laugh:

I got a high powered rifle strapped to my back, an obsolete machine gun hanging loosely under my right arm, a pistol in that arm and a knife in the other.

And I'm pretty much naked.

They did _not_ cover this in basic.

Next room contains two things:

A mannequin and an SCS-89zk SOPMOP 'Liberté' Black Ops armor; mostly just a captured Black Ghost armor worn under a Reinforced Combat armor, minus the shoulder pads. Good protection and has a first gen stealth system ( Instead of a stealth field like the Crimson Dragoons use, the armor's color changes to fit its surroundings.)

Hmm... What's with the U.S. army and their need to put shoulder pads on everything ? You can't climb, you can't shoot, you can't swim and you can't fucking scratch with them, so what's the point?

Whatever.

I get trough two more doors, not bothering to search the rest of the compound now that I have all I need… Except ammo, but this is obviously a research facility; they won't store ammunitions here.

Come to think of it, it IS a research facility, so where are the researchers?

Summer break?

I finally reach what seems to be the lobby; receptionist desk, waiting room and two American flags.

I search my pouches for a lighter, just for the principle, but keep walking toward the two large steel door.

Normally, I would seek revenge as soon as I got out of here, but truth is, I don't give a shit anymore.

I spent years, decades maybe, in that pod, fighting, killing for reasons I really don't think I even understood. Everyone has a motivation, we all have a perfectly good excuse, no cause is worth killing for because no cause is worth dying for. Simply put, survival is all that matters, mine and others, 'cause in the end, the governments, the peoples, the causes; they all fade away, nothing ever changes and all you can do is hope to do some good while you can.

I don't remember what exactly happened in that thing, but I know its changed me, for better or worst, I can't tell, yet I'll try to make the best of it.

I push the door open.


	6. RadRoach

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, was working on a fic for Dead Frontier... They don't seem to like my writing style, so fuck them :D**

**BroHoodofSteelDC: He could, but he doesn't even know if there's civilisation out there, why bother going around with a broken gun? And that's what the whole story is about, really ^^**

**God and the Snake: Montgomery and Patterson are paratroopers, so is Roach, but he's Spec Ops, so it doesn't count.**

**And I've not played MW2 yet... Don't spoil it :O! (**

**Frontier: Hmm... Sounds right, but I stick to my belief that the best armor is the one that doesn't get shot at... Stealth suits FTW! **

My god, what happened? What did those idiots do?

Right in front of the research center is what seems to be an office building… well, its ground floor, at least; everything above that is just… gone. The sun's rising right behind it, giving it a dramatic effect and throwing a pinkish lighting on the ruins.

The whole city is like that, buildings are falling apart, leaning on each others, ruins littering the streets, or what's left of the streets, and wrecked cars crashed everywhere, a harsh breeze kicking up the dust in small black twisters.

The cars are burnt, blackened… Was there a fire? Nukes? Where am I, anyway? This can't be Anchorage!

I walk down the front stairs, crushing debris under my boots, -wait, no, it's the stairs that crumble under my weight, like flint- and try to find a radio freq with my helmet's comm.

Nothing. Not because there are no frequencies, but because they removed all communication equipment from the helmet.

I check the text and infrared data transmitter.

It works, so I can send files to specific terminals.

I sit on the last step, my armor plates and weight crushing a small lump into it.

What am I supposed to do? Where should I even go? WHERE AM I!

I turn on my wrist mounted recording device, pretty similar to a Pip-Boy:

"Day one, I'd like to have a date, but so far all I have is the hour, unless the sun's course is messed up too.

Anyhow, it's 0600 hours.

I just woke up in some sort of VR pod. No idea how long I've been in there nor exactly what happened to me.

My callsign is Roach, I am a Canadian Special Forces Operator under the U.S. Department of War, I was operating as a demolition specialist in the sixth fleet during the reclamation of Anchorage, Alaska.

If anyone gets this message and has a mean of communication, please contact the nearest American Base so they can home in on my signal. This message will be automatically sent to the DoW, the Pentagon, the Parliament, and other classified locations as well as any terminals advanced enough to have wireless connection.

Private Roach, Over and Out."

Looking around the street, I notice what seems to be an abandoned military blockade; just two trucks, some crates and barbed wires, but hey, might be some ammo in there.

Why bother? Everything is gone, everyone is gone…

"**YOU LAZY ASS MOTHER-FUCKING FRENCHY, YOU THINK YOU CAN JOIN THE JTF WITH THAT FUCKING ATTITUDE? YOU'RE A FUCKING PUNK AND AN IDIOT, NOW GET IN THAT FUCKING PLANE AND JUMP OUT OF IT LIKE A MAN OR I'LL FUCKING MAKE YOU!" **

Ahh, Carl 'Viper' Jameson, my para instructor… He did push me out of the plane in the end.

Every time I get scared, desperate or just plain down, I hear his voice telling me to man up and act like a soldier.

He's right, of course. I've had the best training a man can get, got the best equipment I could hope for, even though it's malfunctioning, and have had what I think must be years of military experience… Although I can't remember it all, it seems to have left its mark. Maybe my situation isn't so bad, huh…

Keeping Lucy on my lap, I insert the knife in its shoulder sheath, the Colt in the holster on my lower back and attach the C-18 to a chest strap, usually meant for SMGs and such, but hey, who's going to bitch about it?

Unlike the Navy SEALs and Marines, the JTF2 actually encourages gear customization; makes Operators even more efficient.

Personally, I prefer thigh holsters and lower back knife sheaths, since they allow for more fluid movements when drawing, but the former owner of this armor seemed to prefer close combat; the knife is placed in such a way that it can be drawn even when grappling and the pistol is out of reach to most peoples attacking from the front.

I don't like close combat that much; Oh, I'm good at it, make no mistake, but I still much prefer sniping and ambushes: No mess, no waste of time or ammo; one C-4 or Claymore, a few rounds then tag' em and bag' em.

I reach the blockade and check the trucks first, since they have metal boxes in their beds.

First one only has 10mm and 5.56… Nothing I need.

I kick one of the boxes and it fly off the truck.

Second one has two clips worth of .308 rounds –that's twenty of them- and a locked ammo box.

These usually contain up to a hundred round of ammunition, so I take a few seconds to pick the lock.

It's filled with 5mm rounds. Jackpot.

Sitting on a box, I proceed to fill my mags; I only have one for the Carbine, but it contains thirty bullets and I'm no Spray and Pray fan so that should be good.

Plus, both M14 clips are now fully loaded.

Yay. I distribute the rest of the ammo between the many pouches of my combat webbing.

Time to search the blockade itself.

I use my knife to open the first crate.

Ah… M97 Frag Grenades, my favorite!

I pick up all twenty of them, keeping most in my hip ammo pouch and hanging five to my belt.

Next box contains MREs; I take five of them. No sense overweighting myself, I'm trained to survive without food for a long time.

Last one is a pretty large crate with a note written over it.

WTF DO WE NEED TOSE FOR?

-B.M.

I pry it open:

Military grade self deployed tents… Nice.

I pick up one of the handbag sized cylinders and hang it on my back.

Now; if I head north, I'll have to go trough an half collapsed building, if I go east, I'll probably need to go trough the sewers, since the street is blocked, and if I go south, I'll have to get annoyingly close to what looks like a nuke crater.

I choose north.

The building seems to have half melted and is now slouched against another building, blocking the street. It's somewhat shaped like a J and half of it's base is buried under rubbles; that means I'll have to get in trough one of those windows and hope I don't end up falling to my death.

A few kicks and shattered window later, I'm in an old office, walking on what used to be walls, stepping over destroyed desks and file cabinet.

This is weird…

Reminds me of Azerbaijan…

Although I've never been in Azerbaijan and I never shot that dictator; rebel forces did… Officially.

This place is just creepy; the sun is coming in from a dozen creaks in the walls and ceiling, catching in the dust and creating pink/yellow columns of light.

I need to climb on a wrecked cabinet to reach the doorway.

Where's the door anyway? Actually, who care?

I survey the next room, Carbine ready to fire.

Just a corridor, well, it looks more like an elevator shaft now; goes two meters up, eleven meters down and is two meters wide.

When I was a kid I always wondered how it'd be like if my house was tipped on its side.

Now I know, and it sucks.

Opposite of me is another doorway and I can see the streets trough it.

Only problem is to avoid falling down that hallway.

Hmm… The door…

Crashed cabinet, crashed desk, wrecked chair… Wooden plank!

I jump from my cabinet and dig the door out from under a shit load of dust, then use it as a bridge between both doorways.

Of course, the door being old and Murphy's law being always right, I hear a worrying creaking as soon as I step on it.

"Fuck this." I yelp before jumping trough the Doorway.

Before I can see or do anything, I land on some sort of slide made of burnt desk, slip all the way down to the street and crash on something squishy…

What the heck?

I look down.

WHAT THE HECK?

I… I don't know how to even describe this!

Looks like someone took five peoples, put them in a blender, put the thing at High then glued the bits back together!

Why am I still sitting on it?

I jump away and aim my gun at the thing.

It doesn't move. Must be dead.

I poke it with my gun and step back.

Yup; dead.

I glance around.

How comes I'm in the street? I didn't climb out any window…

This side of the structure seems to have much more rubbles than the other one…

A closer inspection of the building's wreck tells me it was hit by some kind of explosive and said explosive pretty much blew the shit out of half the thing.

Tactical Nuke?

I hear movements behind me, down the road and immediately climb back up the burnt desks, into the shadows of the wrecked edifice.

There's a good hiding spot that looks like a small crater in the debris, to my left; two meters wide, one meter deep and no steel rods poking from it.

I jump in it and lay low.

Whatever is out there, I'd rather not meet it right away.


	7. Big Red Guys Santa?

**A/N: Working on something else (A story that's actually all mine, not a fanfic :O), sorry for the delay :/.**

**Frontier: Yup... Long, since it's not included xD**

**Thousand Tailed Genesis Fang: Uh... Thanks, I guess o_O**

**God and the Snake: They do, Marines have an Airforce and Paratrooper force too... P.S. I hate you -_-'**

**ThatGuy: Maybe, maybe he's her great great great grand father :O Or maybe I just got lazy in name making. ^^**

**

* * *

****  
**

"Day two.

I encountered some very dangerous looking green giants and managed to evade them… Actually, I was planning on making contact when one of the things made a knock-knock joke:

'Knock-kock.  
Who's there?  
Humans.  
Humans who?  
Kill the humans, kill them all.'

Soo… I decided to stay the heck away. I have hidden my tent amongst a bunch of debris, even buried it a bit; you wouldn't find it unless I want you to and, right now, I'm still not sure I actually want to be found.  
Anyhow, since I now spent thirty hours outside without meeting any signs of civilization, I'll soon have to assume I am alone in the city… Guess I'll have to move on, although I have no clue as to where I am.  
If you can hear me, please give me a sign; My armor is malfunctioning and I have limited supplies, I don't know how long I can make it on my own.

Private Roach, over and out."

* * *

I lean back on the padded part of the floor.

Things aren't looking very good; earlier today, I tried to activate the suit's adaptable camouflage, but only got a Low Battery warning.

This suit is not a SCS-89zk, it's a different prototype, but not in the good, unrestrained way; no, in the unfinished, half-assed way.

How do I know? First clue is the low power warning when adaptable camouflage works on bio-generators that can last a hundred years. What the fuck indeed.

Second clue was when I found an empty, fist sized slot in the back, just under the neck; looks like I could fit a fission battery in it, but what for? Nothing in this armor sucks remotely that much juice.

The third is the half assed nervous system interface that should allow me to move the suit around like a T-51b… That is, if the suit was assisted, which is not the case.

And, finally, the last evidence of the suit's actual crappiness is the random warnings I get telling me that the suit's shield system is unpowered.

I should hope so seeing as…

IT'S NOT EQUIPPED WITH SHIELDS!

Fuck's sake, no armors have shields; it's impossible… Well, it IS possible, but you'd need very large amount of power for a few minutes of use and probably could not move, thus, could not do anything about the enemy flanking you and stuff.

I think the Soviets had a few prototypes working, but gave it up in favor of U.S. Power Armors; less expensive and easier to handle.

So, although the suit still provides good protection, it is barely more than a fancy suit of combat armor.

"Tabarnak d'osti d'calisse de Christ de saint fucking son of an inbred bitch!" I hiss, clutching my head with both hands.

How the hell did I get in a situation like this? Actually, how do I keep getting myself into situations like this?

I gotta admit, that sense of calm I felt in the pod, when I woke up; I'm starting to miss it.

* * *

"Day three.

Three days; it feels like a week…  
Still no evidence of civilization around the city; except those green freaks.  
I met a robot not too long ago, it belonged to the Enclave.  
From what I heard 'President' Eden spout, the Enclave came into power some time after the bomb fell…Where are they now? Did the greenies kill them all?  
I don't know what's going on… I just… *Sigh* I will soon start ambushing the freaks; might as well go out with a bang.

Private Roach, over and out."

* * *

This time, I'm on the roof of an hotel, the statesman, peeking down the street trough my scope.

So far, I've counted fifty mutants down there. I'm not planning on attacking them, I'm just curious; they seem to be looking for something, green stuff, from what I gather.

Apparently, they use it to 'Make more like them.'

Weird reproduction way if I've ever seen one… Can't reproduce unless you have green stuff…

Maybe it's their equivalent for Viagra.

I grin and crawl out of there, back to my tent.

* * *

"Day four.

Today I had a run in with the mutants.

They die easily.

Easier than those U.S. Shock Troopers, at least.

I've been trying to figure out my armor for a while now:  
I found parts made in China, Japan, Canada, Russia, France, Mexico and even India… And quite a lot of gizmos that don't exactly seem to have been made on earth, like those weird crystals that fill the gaps between the under suit's 'scales'…

Oh well.

My opinion is that this is the world's response to the U.S. super soldier programs; create extremely efficient suits and give them to the only peoples they know will use them effectively and for the right cause; Joint Task Force operators.

I'm not sure if they ever got a prototype working, but if they did, I think it would explain why the Yankees ran simulations where I would have access to super-human abilities; they wanted to test a JTF operator's combat effectiveness with the abilities the suit provides.

Damn shame I only have a rough prototype, thing would have rocked…

Anyways, Private Roach, over and out."

* * *

I sit on the bed, looking at the armor, or, more accurately, at the helmet.

The part covering the mouth and nose –like the one covering the back and top of the head- is identical to that of the Crimson Dragoons, it's black, plain and follow the jaw line perfectly, to allow more neck flexibility.

The visor, however, looks more like that of a T-45d; black, thick and crude. The optics don't have night or thermal vision like most of our armors, instead, it has a motion sensor that highlights anything that moves in an 'unnatural' way, even if it's on the other side of a wall.

Of course, I'd need power for it to work, but I managed to run it for exactly five seconds before burning out what's left of the wrist mounted backup generator.

Actually, it's just an Energy Cell like those Laser Pistols use.

Ah what the fuck. I need to find some water.

The armor works a bit like a jumpsuit; slip in the pants and zip up the chest… The only weird part is the helmet; you press a button and it opens like a flower, press it again and it wraps around your face like some kind of spider… its… unnerving, to feel like your armor is eating your face.

I grab my gear and head out, rubbing Lucy's lens with my thumb to clear away some tenacious dirt.

"Halt! Who goes there!" a muffled, tense and deffinetly female voice orders.

What. The. Fuck.

I look up.

An American soldier in T-45d armor is holding a Laser Rifle to my head.

"Uh… Hi to you too."

It's good to finally meet another human… Hope I won't have to kill her.

"Who are you! What are you doing here, local!"

I blink twice. Do I look like a local? Actually, what are locals supposed to look like anyway? Hope she's not referring to those green freaks…

Her armor is weird, it's in good condition and she obviously knows how to use it, but the paint job is crude and has no country indication, only a weird insignia on her shoulder.

Mercenary… I hate mercs; greedy assholes.

"Listen, miss, how about you get that thing out of my f…"

"Shut up! I asked you a question!" She's obviously a newbie; I can hear fear in her voice and her questions are pointless. Come to think of it, I was a newbie too... Before the shoved me into that pod.

Maybe I won't kill her… Yet.

But I sure as hell won't let het aim that gun at me any longer.

I leap forward, slipping my arm under her gun so grab her shooting hand then pulling on it hard, my other hand holding the rifle aimed over my head.

Just as she looses her balance, if only a bit, I jerk the gun out of her hands and shove her back.

Something presses against my back.

"That's enough, waster," A raspy voice growls, "stand do…"

I jump backward, squeezing his gun between my back and his chest before planting my right feet under his center of gravity…

Two kicks and a twist later the second yankee is on the ground.

The first one is slowly getting up, looking for her weapon.

She finds it… When I throw it hard against her helmet.

Her head jerks back with a 'Ping!' and she falls in the rubbles again.

I can hear more of them coming. Time to run.

Just as I think that my legs start running by themselves.

"Get that guy!" I hear the soldier I knocked order.

"Wha… Why, who's that?"

"Just get him! Shoot him if you have to!"

Yankees, trigger happy amateurs.

My tent is set at the junction of two streets, but only one of them is still somewhat clear of debris.

There are at lest ten more Yankees coming up that way, so I turn to an abandoned apartment building, right in front of the debris mount my tent is set on.

The door is boarded up pretty good, but the window isn't, so I fire a burst trough the rotting planks and leap in, landing on a rotting couch and knocking a tv off its table.

What a wonderful first fucking contact! DAMNIT!

I get up and resume running.

With those armors, there's just no way they can follow me.

Mutants, mercs, ruined streets and buildings… Place feels like Montreal…


	8. Worst Capture Ever

**A/N: Sorry 'bout the wait, computer fried and I had to re-write everything. Shame on you infidels who thought I had given up on writing those stories :O Anyways, here's an update :P It's short, but it's something, and like Gandhi once said: Update is better than shit.**

**Discovery Channel is NOT a reliable source kiddos :|  
**

Guh… Shit… My head.

What happened? Wait… Yeah, I was running from something or someone; not panicked running, just trying to get away quickly. Not much fear, just annoyance.

I don't know how long I ran, but I'm not in the city anymore, that's obvious.

You want more details? So do I.

Everywhere, as far as my eyes can see, all there is is rocks, burnt trees and wrecks.

I remember crossing water… Why is everything so fuzzy anyway?

Peoples… I met strangely dressed peoples… What happened afteward?

Pain… Yeah, pain and a coppery taste, like that time I slipped on a patch of ice and damn near knowcked myself out. Felt like my brain was trying to force its way out of my nose.

I try to focus my vision on the shapes that are moving around in front of me, but my eyes don't seem to understand I don't give a fuck about the scenery.

Something brown-white appears before me and my eyes finally show me what I want to see.

It's a face, a few centimeters from mine… Real dirty too… I think it's a she…Yeah, it's definitely a woman; kinda pretty too, under all that crass.

"Well, well, look who's back amongst the living… Slept well?" She teases.

I don't answer, what I am supposed to say anyway? I scan my surroundings instead.

"Fuck me." Maybe not the best exclamation to say in the circumstances, but still damn accurate.

The woman laughs and leans back against the fence I'm slouched on.

I'm in a pen with seven other peoples… And I still have my armor.

Why the fuck did they lock me in a pen without taking off my armor?

My visor's down and the re-breather is up; the armor must have locked down when it registered I was unconscious.

Glad it still can do something right, but that means they don't care if I have it on, which means the armor won't protect me from whatever they're planning.

Looks bad.

I look at the others:

The woman who talked to me when I woke up is wearing a pink dress that seems to glow despite all the dirt on it, she has short blond hairs and green eyes. She also has a weird necklace with a glowing red light.

Standing next to the pen's gate is a large, muscular man; red neck type with a sleeve-less leather jacket and imposing mustache. He too is wearing a bulky metal necklace.

Sitting next to me is a tall and imposing man, nearly as big as the redneck, wearing colorful robes and a turban.

Looks like one of those Bedouin tribal. Could be some kind of pilgrim.

He's speaking with a small African-American girl who's completely dressed in red.

Most of the color seems to come from dried bloodstains.

Next to them, starring into thin air, is an old man in battered clothing with a military haircut and rough beard.

Finally, two boys, around sixteen, are playing with sticks in the middle of the pen, they are dressed just like the pilgrim.

All of them have those strange collars on.

I touch my neck and curse.

Instead of a thick rubbery fabric, I find hard rusted steel.

"Don't touch the collar," the woman warns, "They tend to, you know, blow up."

Well fuck. Now I'm pissed.

I'm a demolition specialist; You. Do. Not. Lock a demolition specialist with full body armor in the same pen as seven explosive devices.

"Who knocked me out?" I growl, getting up and earning a general 'what the fuck' look.

"Who do you think?" Redneck laughs. "Slavers."

Well, of course, how did I not think of that? Silly me!

"They have my guns?"

A spark in his eyes looking strangely like compassion appears as he nods. Guy's a soldier; he knows how attached soldiers get to their guns.

"Where are they?" I bark without pause.

The pilgrim stands and tells something to the kids in Arabic or Farsi –I mean, Persian- , something about Allah and the time being right.

They pick up stones and form a circle around the little red girl.

Redneck frowns before answering the question;

"They're in the shack, behind you. You got a plan to get us out of here already?"

"Us? Who's us? How do I know I can trust you?"

The man snickers and goes back to watching the horizon.

"Sir," the pilgrim interjects in a calm voice. "We are all brothers here, if not of blood, of circumstances, let us watch after each others like a family, and maybe we can get out of the predicament."

I've known peoples like him, back in Kosovo, good bunch, a bit fanatical, but good heart.

I nod and extend my hand.

"Name's Roach, CANSOFCOM sapper."

We shake hands. A handshake tells a lot about the other man; for instance, the strength of his grip tells me he was raised in a farmer or worker family, the callosity of his skin clearly shows he's not afraid to roll up his sleeves and the precision and care of his every moves scream Martial Artist or leader of some sort, most likely an Imam.

"I am Adi, this is Omar and this is Abdel ."

The kids nod respectfully.

"You are pilgrims, right?"

Adi nods with a large smile. "Yes, we may never see the Mecca, but the destination is only a small part of a Hajj."

Really now? What's the point of a pilgrimage if they ain't headed for the Mecca? And where are they coming from? This is the fucking U.S.!

"And what is the bigger part?" Maybe I sounded a little more sarcastic that I should have, but I can't really help it, can I?

"Allah." Adi answers, with a welcoming motion of his arms, as if he's hugging the universe.

Whatever.

"You said you were a sapper, an expert of explosives devices, am I right?"

Oh no, I see where this is going…

"Yes."

"Could you disable these devices?" He taps his collar.

No, no, nonono, nooooooooooo…

"Yes, but I'd need a volunteer." Why the fuck don't I ever listen to myself?

He smiles and sits in the dirt.

"Let us get started."

These are going to be the longest five minutes of my life, I can feel it.


End file.
